


Just Another Rich Girl

by Dalzo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, But first, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, generous mentions of Pod's magic cock, they need to work on some past issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 12:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18475807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalzo/pseuds/Dalzo
Summary: "Don't you know?"He frowns. "Know what?" he asks, that frown deepening at her low sigh as she turns from him. Entranced, healmostmoves to follow her."I'll see you around Gendry." She twirls to face him, on her smooth exit; a sly smile working at her pretty lips until spinning her back on him once again.She's just another rich girl. That's what he tells himself, anyways; to make it easier, knowing she'd never want him back.





	Just Another Rich Girl

**Author's Note:**

> So... that gendrya reunion has officially killed me, I am but a weak wight crumbling under the desire to start a new WIP I have no right in beginning. 
> 
> And I felt particularly fluffy, so modern au -- _we going._

_She's just another rich girl._

 

That's what he tells himself, anyways; sulking in the corner of some too-big house party, filled with too many posh pricks. Everywhere he looks, there's some designer brand logo on a t-shirt or jacket, or _gods forbid_  a fuckin' fanny pack. They don’t even look nice; bit stupid, really, if you ask him. But they're rich, and they know it, so they'll shove it down everyone's throats.

 

And really, she's no different — not with Podrick Payne sidled up next to her, earning small pretty smiles; only the fellow rich truly worthy of her attention (not really. not with her. but it's easier). The sight has his hand clenching around the beer, quick to take a deep pull from the bottle of northern brew.

 

"Y'know, Ros said he's the best she's ever had."

 

"Bet Ros says that with every bloke—"

 

"Mentioned something 'bout a magic cock—"

 

"Bet she'd like my magic cock—"

 

 _"Shut it!"_ Gendry snaps, sinking into the couch and glowering at the distant giggle he likes hearing a little too much from her. A flare of instant regret slaps in his mind a second later.

 

"Oh, c'mon lad — just a bit o' fun. No time for getting mad 'bout your _normal cock_ not getting what it wants." Anguy's palm comes down hard on his shoulder, not quite matching the weight of his words and the punch the syllables pull.

 

Someone shoves at his other shoulder. "You keep staying away from her, too., you hear me _boy._ " Lem glares right in his face. "Sulk all you like, but if you have any sense, you won't crack onto her or I'll—"

 

"He's too bloody awkward to have a crack, Lem, leave em' be."

 

"Aye," Harwin agrees. "Besides — the little lady is _eighteen,_ now. She can do what she pleases."

 

_"Who she pleases."_

 

"Oh, fuck off Anguy." Gendry growled, downing his first beer in two gulps; one beer more than he usually drinks on a night out. "Aren't you lot too old to be here for an eighteen-year old's birthday?"

 

"I grew up with her."

 

Anguy and Lem glance at each other after Harwin's easy retort and shrug together. "She works with us—"

 

"Worked." he corrects bitterly. "You worked with her. Just cus' she's back doesn't mean she's staying."

 

"Lord, you are a stubborn lad." Harwin shakes his head with a smile. "A stubborn fool."

 

"Well, he's always been slow—"

 

The laughter follows Gendry's footsteps as he pulls himself from the couch away from their endless teasing, ears burning red as he stalks to the kitchen for another free beer — really, it's the _only_ perk of rich-kid parties (when he drinks on the rare occasion; _when he's angry and has the desire_ ). He doesn't dare glance at Arya on his way past.

 

His temper can be a tricky thing to control when reaching boiling point.

 

For now, it just simmers in his veins; soon to be dulled by too much alcohol, a long sleep and a head-pounding headache in the morning. Something to look forward to, _if_ it hopefully drowns out the image—

 

"Since when do you drink?"

 

Gendry shifts on his feet, a fresh bottle of cold beer in his hand, closing the fridge door behind him. He stands still; stiff, as her eyes find his and begins to think on his words too much — he always has, since finding out her family name. Maybe that's why she calls him stupid all the time, always so slow to speak just to utter something appropriate.

 

Only, thinking is far too hard when she looks like that — dressed in form-fitting clothes, so unfamiliar from the uniform that never fit her at the Beric's autoshop, grey eyes almost sparkling from what little make-up gunk she put on her face. It's when she looks like this that he truly is stupid: comparing her to an oak tree, as if that's a compliment; wrestling her down because he can't control himself in touching her.

 

Words… he's never been good with words. But Arya makes him completely and entirely hopeless.

 

"Since when do you?"

 

"I'm eighteen now." _Like he didn't notice._  Gendry swallows as she rolls her eyes. "And you know that never stopped me before."

 

"I never could stop you." She grins at that, eyes travelling down his body slowly, head to toe, lingering on his right-hand before flicking to meet his gaze once more.

 

"No, you couldn't." A pause thickens the tension. "I saw your art — Jon showed me." She nods to his hand; a smudge of charcoal imprinted on the side of his thumb. " You're better."

 

Gendry blinks, clenching his material-stained palm. "So are you." He blurts, eyes widening upon realisation. "I mean, just… you look good, is all."

 

She bites her lip, pulling at the soft flesh with her teeth. "So do you."

 

_Fuck._

 

A hasty few sips of beer is all that can keep himself from doing something stupid.

 

"You know, you really ought to wish the birthday girl happy birthday — it's _rude_ not to."

 

He leans against the counter, glancing down as she steps closer; looking up at him beneath her lashes. _Have they always been that long?_

 

"Is that a command, _Lady Stark—"_

 

"Don't call me that." Arya commands, shoving lightly at his shoulder before ducking her head to hide the smile that slowly spreads her pretty mouth.

 

"As m'lady wishes."

 

She shakes her head, another step toward him marking another step forward to a stupid urge; one entailing a hand, wrapped around her tiny waist; lips finding her ear, whispering how much he missed her since she left; confessing the feelings that slammed him so hard into the dirt the second he saw her again and all the things he'd  _like_ to do. 

 

 _Gods._ Maybe he should drink more; if only to build up a much-needed tolerance around her. 

 

He doesn't give in, though, despite the quickly-affecting alcohol — he leans in, _yes,_ and he bends to whisper in her ear; not as close as he wants, but close enough to smell her shampoo. But there's no  _'I miss you',_ and certainly no  _'I love you'._

 

"Happy Birthday, Arry," He murmurs low, before pulling away quick to give her a tight smile. "Don't leave it to the next one to come home again, yeah?"

 

Her brows furrow as a flash of something fierce strikes through her eyes, like a bolt of lightning. Irritation, maybe, or old-angered wounds opening up maybe. Probably just something stupid he said.

 

"Don't you know?" She askes softly, masking her hurt swiftly. 

 

He frowns. "Know what?" It deepens at her low sigh, something  _suspiciously_ sounding like ' _stupid'_  as she turns from him. Entranced, he almost moves to follow her.

 

"I'll see you around Gendry." She twirls to face him, on her smooth exit; a sly smile working at her pretty lips until spinning her back on him once again.

 

 _Just another rich girl,_ he reminds himself, eyes inevitably dropping to her arse, watching her walk away, hypnotised by the swing in her hips. _Another rich, pretty and barely legal girl._

 

Gendry groans as the thought of her walking that way right back to Podrick Payne (or worse, Edric fucking Dayne) obnoxiously knocks in his head. 

 

_Fuck._

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since writing this adorable ship of mine, so forgive me if it feels a bit OC and rusty. 
> 
> If you're up for a chat about GoT or Gendrya, chuck me a follow on tumblr [@reyloner](http://reyloner.tumblr.com/) or on twitter [@dalzonii](https://twitter.com/Dalzonii)


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